Month: February 2019

We never did find our bus.

We’d been sent to the “Hotel Sakura” bus stop, but had been redirected to the main bus station. And they’d sent us back to Hotel Sakura…. who’d pointed us back to the main bus station. Eventually, someone took pity on us and walked us there. After showing our bus tickets (again), an unknown gentleman had an emphatic discussion with the conductor. My Hindi is a bit rusty (read “non-existent”), but I’m pretty sure his message was “Yes, I know the ticket isn’t for this bus, but it’s the same company so for goodness sake, just take them”.  Whatever he said, it worked, and we were finally on our way to Bharatpur.

As the bus filled, a colourfully-dressed older Indian lady boarded, saw me and shyly offered her hand. She just wanted to shake mine, and look at me. It was as touching as it was disconcerting.

The bus muscled its way through the buzzing mass of tuktuks, as we took in the sights from our comfortable, but decrepit and filthy seats:

A very short 1.5 hours later, we arrived in Bharatpur.

We’re here to see the birds. Lots of birds. A book kindly lent to me by the owner of our hotel was a mine of information, written by a twitcher with serious time on his hands. He made about 300 visits to the park over a period of about 3,000 days, documenting the minute-by-minute (literally, no kidding) workings of the avian population. Here’s what I learnt:

The park was originally called the “Waterbird Sanctuary”, becoming a National Park in 1981. It contains 369 species of bird (as of 1990, when the book was published) belonging to 56 different families.

At the north-western end of peninsular India, the great plains begin, and they start with the flood plains of Bharatpur. The topography of the plains is markedly flat, gently tilting towards the east. The slope is hard perceptible except during the rains when water flows into the Banganga and Gamhiri rivers.  It’s not more than 300,000 years old – very recent by any geological standard.

Radio-carbon dating of pottery found near the sanctuary itself suggests it was occupied in c. 1,000 BC. Later, the area was thought to be the hunting ground of the Mughals during the Golden Age, as they settled in nearby Fatehpur Sikri.

Roll on a few hundred years and along came the British. Duck-shooting was their favoured “sport”. Drastic modifications were undertaken by the British to assure the supply and holding of shallow water over larger areas, and for longer periods of this natural freshwater swamp. Viceroy Lord Curzon inaugurated the first official duck-shoot here in December 1902. In the following 44 years, in 19 duck shoots, over 200,000 ducks were bagged. Or murdered. Depending on which side of the fence you sit on this.

The summer drought is both devastating and regenerating, with millions of plants and animals being converted into raw organic matter, ready to sustain the next generation.

The mixed nesting colonies of egrets, cormorants, darters, herons and storks demonstrate a mutual desire for secure breeding – they exhibit no contest or conflict.

To quote the book: “The mere survival of this ecological oasis in the India context of overpopulation and extensive agricultural economy, is a miracle.” Exactly.

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The day had started with breakfast overlooking the Taj Mahal. As you do.

And we were opposite Hotel Kamal whose slogan had definitely gained something in translation:

And ended (finally) at our guest house, sitting in the garden talking to owner and her family. She was excited because her brother was soon to be married. A “love marriage”, as opposed to an arranged marriage, like hers.

It was lovely sitting in the sunshine in their little garden, with its flowers, lime tree and wasps:

One downpour later:

… and it was time for dinner and bed.

Lots of stuff today:

Agra Fort

Agra Fort is the only fort in India where all the Mughal emperors lived (but not at the same time, of course). Mughals ruled from here from 1526 and it got its present look from Akbar (reigned 1556 – 1605 AD) who restored it in red sandstone from its ruins. Building took eight years (1565 – 73 AD) and it became a World Heritage site in 1983.

As you climb the slope from the southern “Amar Singh” gate, you can’t miss Jahangir’s Palace. Except that it’s not Jehangir’s at all. It was originally Akbar’s palace, but the “hauz” (large bath) made for Jehangir ended up in front of it, and the whole place took on his name:

Inside the main fort, you could just make out the Taj Mahal in the foggy (polluted?) distance:

Shah Jahan (he who had the Taj Mahal built) had begun to renovate Agra Fort, changing the buildings inside from red sandstone to his beloved white marble.

The dark patches in the corners of this room are where tourists have rested their heads – when someone speaks from the corner diagonal to it, you can hear them. Albeit muffled. It wasn’t clear whether this effect was intended (or even noticed) by Jahan but it certainly demonstrates the accuracy of symmetry.

The “Diwan-i-Am” of this fort:

 

The main gardens had been restored to their previous splendour:

 

Jahangir’s “chain of justice” was my favourite anecdote of the day. To quote the information plaque:

“He records in his memoirs that after his accession, the first order he gave “was for the fastening up of the chain of justice so that if those engaged in the administration of justice should delay or practice hypocrisy, the aggrieved might come to this chain and shake it so that its noise might attract my attention.” It was made of pure gold, 80-foot in length and had 60 bells. One end was fastened to the fort’s battlements, and the other to a stone post on the bank of the river. It was a novel way to address the grievances of the people who could approach the king, the highest judicial authority of the empire, directly, without fee, fear or formality for immediate relief. There was no distinction of caste or creed, or between poor and rich. Jahangir’s administration of justice became a legend in Indian history.”

Back to Jahan (Jahangir’s son?). As part of the fort’s renovation, he created a white marble octagonal tower. In 1658, Jahan’s son stole power by cutting off the water supply to the fort and murdering all his brothers. Jahan was imprisoned in the tower until his death eight years later. Mind you, it’s not a bad place to be kept:

This fort’s Diwan-i-Khas:

 

Another item of note was the black marble “Takht-i-Jahangir” (Throne of Jahangir) made by the then Prince Salim (later to become Jahangir) when he had rebelled against his father, Akbar (rebelling against your father seemed to be a family trait). You can’t tell from the photo, but it gently slopes from the centre to the sides, like a tortoise back:

 

The “Nagina” mosque was built in 1635 by Jahan for the ladies of the court:

… with shops below (he clearly knew his audience well):

And finally the Diwan-i-Am (hall of public audience):

 

Outside was teeming with squirrels:

… who were attracted by stupid tourists:

 

… until one of the tourists got bitten and he, rather pointlessly, tried to push the blood out of the bite:

(We saw the ladies at the park later… without the man…)

 

I’timad-ud-Daulah

You can see why it’s affectionately known as the “Baby Taj”:

Like the Taj Mahal, it’s a tomb, built by the wife of emperor Jahangir for her father (also the grandfather of Mumtaz Mahal) between 1622 and 1628. To my eyes, it was clearly the inspiration for the Taj Mahal which draw on many of its features, such as the white marble and floral decorations.

Four water channels cut the space into quadrants (they liked their symmetry did the Mughals), representing the four rivers of life: milk, water, wine and honey.

Chini-ka-Rau Ah

This is the tomb of the calligrapher and then poet, Shukrullah Shirazi, characterised by the glazed tilework:

 

Which had fallen into disrepair in many places:

 

By this point, I was info’d out, so none of the useful information on the plaque went in. Inside it was painted:

 

The visit also stuck in my memory because someone insisted on putting covers over our shoe but when we got inside, the floor was concrete-like and dusty. “You must pay them 50 rupees”, our tuktuk driver insisted when we emerged. Our laugh made it clear that we were going to do nothing of the sort. And they knew they were on shakey ground because they didn’t even put up a fight. It’s worth a try, I suppose!

 

Mehtab Bagh

Shah Jahan (yep, him again) built this park on the banks opposite the Taj Mahal so the building could be admired, especially in the moonlight (the park’s name translates as “Moon Park”).

Near the edge of the river was a pool which would reflect the Taj Mahal. It may also be from where the legend of the Black Taj came. Rumour has it that Shah Jahan had planned a black marble building on the opposite bank of the river for himself. Having spent all his cash on the white version, he planned to tax the locals to pay for it. His son persuaded him that this was a bad idea, and may result in the end of the Mughal dynasty. Archaeological surveys have proven that the existence of its foundations is a myth. However, it is possible that what the Black Taj actually referred to was the reflection of the white Taj in the water.

Currently, the park is not very well planned, with this avenue of trees rather obscuring the magnificent view. Renovations were clearly underway, so here’s hoping they do it justice.

A busy and interesting day, with another glimpse of the “world’s most beautiful building”.

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Random stuff from today:

“Scrumbled” egg, anyone? (I actually think this is an improvement on the term):

The man who drove us to the fort was the travel agent’s uncle. Apparently. We considered requesting the same driver for tomorrow to see if he could be found again!

A tuktuk advert for “No 1 Sexologist… 100% herbal” was somewhat unexpected:

A clever setup off this man’s belt – a carbiner goes through a hole in what looks like a small bottle of suncream. Very practical:

On the tuktuk journey back, I once again saw “how the other half live” (the other “other half”) – a stark reminder of how lucky I am and how first-world problems should really be put into perspective:

Taj Mahal (“Crown of the Palaces”) was built by Shah Jahan as a mausoleum for his beloved third wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Construction started in 1632, a year after her burial, and took 17 years to build. It stands 275.5 feet high. Another five years were needed for the other buildings in the complex, such as the guest house and mosque.

A study in symmetry, there are 16 gardens and 53 central fountains (16 + 53, denoting the year of completion).

In today’s money, it would have cost 52.8 billion rupees (about £636m).

Isha Khan from Persia was the architect, and the distinctive white marble of the exterior and interior was sourced from Rajasthan and transported by camel.

It’s both striking, pure and awe-inspiring:

The central “onion” dome is 35 metres high. Apparently it was originally topped with gold, but that was stolen and it was replaced with brass:

Arches on all four sides are surrounded by script from the Koran, inlaid in onyx sourced from Belgium. Interestingly, the letters get gradually larger giving the impression of a uniform font size when viewed from the ground:

Tall minarets mark the four corners, leaning 13 degrees off-centre so that, in the event of a natural disaster, the minarets would fall away (rather than on to) the Taj.

Inside, the main mausoleum is topped by a striking white marble dome. Mumtaz’s tomb sits centrally with Shah Jahan’s slightly bigger one to the left (just as Ahmad said). Both are surrounded by an octagonal screen with marble cutouts, each one made from a single piece of marble. No photos were allowed in the mausoleum, but here’s an image from Google:

 

A long wire from the high dome ended in an elaborate lampshade just above the tombs – it was donated by the British.

Positions of the windows mean that, had she been alive, Mumtaz had a direct line of sight to the other buildings on the complex.

Inside it was also possible to see the repeated flower motif, made of inlaid precious and semi-precious stones, such as latiz lazuli (from Afghanistan), coral (from Yemen) and more onyx (from Belgium).

And he seemed to be touching it quite a lot, which I’m not sure is a good idea. It reminded me of the displays at National Trust properties in the UK with a control piece, and one that people could touch. It doesn’t take much human grease to destroy these things.

My favourite part of the design was the narrow towers: a close look proved they were four-sided, but the clever zig-zag design made them look 8-sided from a distance:

Our guide announced that he had to be back at the entrance within 15 minutes. We strongly suspected it was because he’d finished giving his information and was keen to get back to another group. We agreed to part and he edged very close to us, staring us straight in the eyes and shifting slightly on his feet. He clearly wanted a tip, despite the chap at the entrance explaining that the guide was included and a tip was optional.

Only, he hadn’t actually been a very good guide at all. He hung around for a long time, edging closer. But he definitely wasn’t getting a big tip.

The guest house and mosque were impressive (albeit not as much) but had fallen into some disrepair. And the museum had had a power cut so it was open, but you couldn’t actually see anything, which was a shame.

Emerging back on to the main drag, we realised that it was now heaving. We’d risen at 6:15am to avoid the crowds, and were reaping the benefits – tourists were everywhere, clogging up the main photo points that earlier had been empty, such as the famous Diana seat:

A slow walk back to the hotel, fielding multiple offers of a tuktuk, to nurse our dodgy tummies. The rest of the day was spent sleeping, relaxing and planning.

A great day seeing one of the world’s most iconic buildings 🙂

Random stuff from today is mostly wildlife, starting with what looks mightily like a zebu:

A laughing dove:

And a troop of monkeys:

Today was a local’s day. Sitting waiting for our train (which was 2 hours late) we got talking to Komal (who took rather a shine to my companion) and Sunny, her brother.

It was a fascinating insight into the Sikh/Punjabi culture. Komal was heading back to her family town for a wedding, and Sunny was escorting her. Because her parents had decided that she wasn’t to travel alone (due to safety fears)… despite her being 25.

She married last year to a man chosen by her parents (who, from the photos, looked considerably older than her). They met 5 – 10 times to check they could “live together” before the two-day marriage ceremony (which was preceded by a ring ceremony).

Once she has a child, she’ll be free to travel independently. How this makes it more safe wasn’t clear.

His parents are still on the lookout for a suitable bride for Sunny (who’s 24).

They were both cautiously interested to know how my parents had allowed us to travel to India alone if we weren’t married. I’m always cautious when speaking about cultural differences: just because it’s different it doesn’t make it wrong; and you never know how the other party will receive the news that, from the age of 18, we’re legally an adult and our parents have no say. Except, of course, they do because most 18 year-olds will still be dependent on their parents, not least because the extortionate house prices forces them to live at home. They were fascinated and a little wistful about going it alone from 18.

Sunny works as a manager in a hotel and gets a total of 4 days off per month. That he was spending one of them waiting at the train station (their train was 5 hours late due to fog in the north slowing the trains to a crawl), he took with considerable grace. Komal worked in a recruitment agency, and had been the one to choose the train over the bus (which is just as fast and more reliable, but about 4 times more expensive).

In return, we described how the train stations work in London (and that people whinge if a train is just 5 minutes late!), the underground and how Oxford was not in London (although by their standards, it pretty much is – one hour is nothing here!).

They explained how difficult it was to get a visa for “London”, and coffee is 10p a cup.

Komal also kindly offered us a taste of her paranta – a delicious mix of veg, cooked into a pancake shape.

It was a bit of shame to leave them on the platform, but we were very glad to finally see our engine pull into the station:

The train journey was comfortable, but the landscape uninteresting – just lots of fields and fences:

Passing the shanty towns was another stark reminder of “how the other half life” – in the UK, people hanker after the lifestyle of the rich, not realising that they’re pretty darn lucky already:

In Agra, two tuktuk drivers touted for business. I couldn’t understand Manish – the rhythm of the Indian accent is constant, rather than the emphases of English, so you don’t know where one word ends and the next one starts.

At the “rooftop” restaurant (which was, indeed, on a roof, but very close to the noisy road below so it wasn’t a relaxing experience), Ahmad also proposed a tour. He certainly knew his stuff, explaining that there are in fact four tombs in the Taj Mahal – Shah Jahan and his third wife are buried in the ground below and duplicate tombs have been erected immediately above. This ensures nobody steps on/over the tombs, which is disrespectful.

He also explained that the four minarets at the corners of the palace lean slightly outwards so that, in the event of a collapse, they don’t damage the main structure.

Dinner was expensive and bland, but the waiter was still very forthright about a tip (after leaving the notes he said “So this is fine now?” to which I showed him the bill and explained I was expecting change… which came in small denominations) – but it was over four times the cost of our previous meal (and not nearly as tasty).

And, worst of all, it gave us the squits. Despite being a tourist place. Very unimpressed.

Delhi’s “Red Fort” was built by Shah Jahan who ruled between 1628 and 1658. It took ten years to construct (1638 to 1648).

Entry was originally via the Lahore gate with its seven arches recalling the seven tiers of heaven in the Muslim belief (hence the phrase “seventh heaven”). Its big wooden doors needed the help of elephants to open them:

Shah Jahan’s son added the porch (well, technically it’s another massive stone gate, but it’s a porch, really) causing his father to comment that “he has made the fort a bride by covering her face with a veil.”

The bazaar was a corridor lined with stalls, originally selling expensive, high-quality wares (and now less high-quality wares!). In the middle was an open area that provided light and air, and where musicians played:

The “Drum House” was the old entrance where drummers would call the faithful to prayer five times a day:

The “Diwan-i-Am” (hall of public audience) was where the emperor would deal with public business, such as disagreements, petitions and requests. It’s an impressive structure 3 bays deep and 9 bays wide. In typical Mughal style, it represented various concepts, such as the 1008 names of Vishu, the 99 names of Allah and the Christian Trinity. Buddhist architecture inspired the scalloped arches, with a Persian “lick” at the apex. References to many different cultures and religions reminded Shah Jahan of his obligations that none should feel offended:

Originally, it would have had luxurious carpets, silks hanging from the walls and gold and silver chandeliers (all since looted).

The “peacock throne”, encrusted with precious stones including the famous Koh-i-Noor diamond  once stood here. After falling into Persian hands, it was deconstructed. The diamond ended up with the British and was recut for Queen Victoria, reducing it from 186 to 105 carats. The disgust in the audio guide’s voice was palpable (and, to be fair completely understandable). It’s now part of the British Crown Jewels.

Indeed, the British took up residence here in 1857 and it was, until fairly recently used a barracks, until the Red Ford was declared a World Heritage Site in 1943. They had first established power after setting up the “East India Company” in the early 17th century, gradually becoming more military until they were the effecitve ruler of India, stripping the emperor of his power and respect.

A short sit in the garden:

And it was nice to see a bit of local rebellion:

So we joined them… only to get booted off by a stressed warden who’d obviously nipped off for a quick fag. But not before we got this lovely shot:

All mosques face towards Mecca. Except this would have destroyed the symmetry of the Fort. The “Moti Masjid” (“Moti Mosque”) demonstrates an ingenious solution  to this problem whereby the outer walls are in alignment, but inner walls have been constructed to face west. It was a shame I couldn’t actually get in to see it.

We were sitting on a bench in the main square, catching up on the audio guide when the first request came in. The fourth of the day, but the first of that session. And once people saw us agreeing to selfies, they wanted one to. A queue formed. Eventually, we had to move somewhere else because we weren’t actually able to listen to the guide. I decided on my strategy: I would agree to any selfies, but I’d ask them to take one on my camera, too. Interested to see how many we’ll have by the end of the trip.

The “Diwan-i-Khas” (hall of private audience) has five arches, representing the five pillars of Islam:

Khrizri Gate was used by Emperor Zafar to get easy access to the river and facilitated his escape in September 1857 when the British entered via the Lahore gate. He lived until 87, but a British lieutenant shot all his successors, declaring “I’m not cruel but I’m pleased to have rid the world of these people.” Not our finest moment.

The other main attraction at the Red Fort was, well, us. Starting before we’d even got a ticket, there were at least a dozen photo requests. At one point we were sat on a bench in the middle of the central courtyard and, as people saw us agreeing to photos with them, others came forward. Eventually we had to moved so that we could actually get through the chapter of the audio guide. I’m still rather perplexed as to why people want a picture of me but after my time in China, I’m kinda ready for it.

Back to our hostel via the very-efficient metro (10p each way – beat that Sadiq!) and a walk over the railway:

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Random stuff from today:

Wooden scaffolding:

Street feet washing:

People queueing to pray at the Sikh monument right next to a busy roundabout:

Waiting in the queue for my visa at Delhi airport was the first time I experienced Indian kindness (on Indian soil, I might add). Despite the display en route advising processing time was 0 – 5 mins, the queue was long. And the processing was slow. After a while, I just had to sit down so parked myself on the floor and stretched out my hips. About 5 minutes later, a new clerk set up station and caught my eye through the throng of legs. He was calling me forward.

Unfortunately, there was something wrong with my visa – my passport number was incorrect. He disappeared off. After confirming it was their fault not mine, I was allowed through. I had checked it when it came through via email, but I was in such a rush I hadn’t clicked they’d transposed 3 numbers. Lesson learnt.

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On the other side, Delhi airport was much like any other international airport, to be honest. Except all the cash machines were empty. Eventually, I found an ATM on the way to the metro which dispensed me some cash in unfamiliar notes. It always takes a while to get the hang of the currency.

The 20-minute journey from the airport to the city centre cost 60p. It had a helpful display tracking our progress:

And this sign was worded far better than those on the London Underground:

Outside it was misty, and despite being just outside Delhi, it was surprisingly green – miles and miles of trees:

Stepping out of the metro at the city centre, I was hit with a cacophony of noise, dust and traffic, teeming with humanity.

After locating our hotel on a map, we decided to try the walk. We’d gone about 10 metres when the first approach happened. He offered to take us into the city centre for 30 rupees. We were both rather surprised… because that’s actually the going rate for a tuk-tuk. And that just doesn’t happen – they always at least double (up to quadruple) the price for the first offer. It should have warned us.

We showed him where our hotel was and he immediately warned us against going, saying that the area was malarial and we should first go into the tourist office at the city centre. If we still wanted to go to our hostel, he’d do the whole trip for 50 rupees. Or we could walk through the train station, which was opposite, and it was just on the other side. About 5 minutes.

We thanked him and started walking towards the train station. But we had to get over the tracks. The guard stopped us as we didn’t have a ticket. He also expressed concern about our destination, saying that it was malarial and we should head into the city centre.

Turns out, there’s a cartel. Various reps herd tourists to their respective agencies in the city centre and (almost certainly) take a commission. Buyer beware.

We walked away to start again, but the price of our journey went up from 50 to 350 rupees. We later realised that they’d misunderstood (and maybe couldn’t read a map?) but each person told the next person where we wanted to go, so the mistake was (unbeknown to us) repeated.

Eventually we got a bicycle rickshaw for 100 rupees – it was still small change and would at least get us roughly where we wanted to be. Except that he started going in the wrong direction.

Once we’d finally checked in, we headed out for dinner and my first Indian in India:

It was much the same as home, but better (and significantly cheaper at £4 for rice, roti, lentil dhal, a vegetable curry and aloo jeera). I couldn’t be sure whether it’d been “westernised”, or this part of India wasn’t so heavy on the spice. I’m sure I’ll find out later.

Life was out on the streets when we emerged – traders, traffic and teeming with people:

And back to the hotel for an 11-hour sleep.

I need a “Ctrl+F” function in my flat. I could type in “Immodium” and it would have shown me where it was hiding. But I don’t, so it couldn’t.

An uneventful, but uninspiring journey. London Heathrow needs to get itself a decent eating place. It never ceases to amaze me how airports fail to cater for basic traveller needs. Although it does have a piano, so extra brownie points there.

Virgin Airlines used to give out a pack of useful stuff: toothbrush, earphones, ear plugs, face mask, socks. Not much, but enough to make your flight a little more comfortable. Not any more. All I got was a thin pillow and a blanket.

The food wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly “service with a smile” – all the air stewards looked very serious and somewhat fed up. But who can blame them? It’s one of those professions that is considered glamourous, but is anything but – a glorified waiter.

I’ll stick to the day job.